The Worst Cup of Tea
by TheLastLynx
Summary: Draco is distracted at work because he's utterly convinced he craves tea. Can he persuade Granger to skiv off and have a cuppa?


**For HeartofAspen**

_who is one of those people with a golden heart_

_**The Worst Cup of Tea**_

by

**TheLastLynx**

* * *

Draco Malfoy couldn't concentrate on the proper things, so he focused on something that would keep his mind occupied. A perfect cup of tea, for instance. The deep, swirling almost-burgundy of an Assam Boisahabi with tiny bubbles drifting to the surface that were gradually bursting, set off perfectly by the impeccable milk-white of a bone china teacup.

'Hey, Granger!'

'What.'

'Fancy a cuppa? I'm thinking a break and a scone at Brown's?'

Her face appeared behind the large parchment she was studying. 'Not now, I'm busy.' She frowned at the large clock in their office. 'As should be you!'

Draco scowled. He disliked the idea of working for a living in general, but Granger brought the despicability of "work ethic" to a whole other level. The report they were due to hand in was almost done, as it wasn't that difficult a case to begin with - in his opinion at least. He thought longingly about the perfect morning drink he could be having, sitting in a comfortable leather chair with her-

'It's barely half ten. Maybe later.'

All right, later then.

* * *

Noon had come and gone, and Draco was still bored out of his mind. Really, what was the point of writing reports about events which could be documented, perfectly, by handing in memories?

There was so much they could be doing instead, like enjoying a freshly harvested tea from the slopes of the Manjhee Valley. Special Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Pekoe Number One. What a complicated title for something that was, in its essence, beautiful in its simplicity. Then again, if you thought about that variety of Darjeeling, it did almost have a gilded quality to it. It was sun-yellow, and light and fruity and herbal on your tongue. One could easily imagine that it wasn't just "golden" because of its colour but also because of the richness and brightness of its taste.

Just yesterday, he'd been owled a notification that the very first harvesting had been delivered, and he was itching to show Granger what was sorely missing in her life.

Granger, though, would not be swayed.

'We just had lunch, Draco.'

'Yes, yes, but it was just a sandwich, and the tea was basically torture!'

'You poor thing,' she snarked from behind a good dozen scrolls sort of towering on her desk, 'and here I am, almost literally drowning in files just to complete our report on the "Accidental Unicorn Bonding".'

Draco shook his head, and considered his own almost completed report. 'Really, Granger, just do it as I did, and keep it short and sweet. "They were in love, they should have just stayed married." The end.'

She laughed so hard her chestnut curls shook, bouncing against the collar of her perfectly pressed and starched blouse, catching the light of their faux ministry windows and deep red shimmer appeared, a burgundy lustre glimmering all over her head. Draco blinked, but her head had already disappeared behind the wall of parchment, leaving him to daydreaming again. An Assam Boisahabi swirling in his cup. The intense, ever-changing shades of autumn shimmering against pearl white…

* * *

It was four o'clock, and Draco had enough. If he'd managed to finish his report, she must have been done for ages. 'Granger, finish up, we're going!'

'Wait a second, I-'

'Or better yet.' He flicked his wand and pointed it at the stack of parchments that had, incredibly, grown over the last few hours. '_ Accio Granger's report _.'

'Stop it, Malfoy, I'm-'

The parchment sailed through their shared office space, the length of it almost trailing over the floor. It landed in his hand. Skimming the almost five-foot-long document, he realised that she'd, indeed, been long finished.

'Granger, this report is perfectly done! What have you been doing the past… I don't know... _seven _hours?' Narrowing his eyes, he scrutinised her face. Her cheeks were tinted red, almost as red as the flecks of burgundy in her chestnut curls.

'It's only just coming together!' she exclaimed, looking like an odd mix between flustered and frustrated.

He sighed and finished the last sentence. 'There. Perfect.' He stood and his and her coat came flying from the hook and landed in the crook of his arm. He extended the other one. 'Let's go and have that perfect cup of tea.'

* * *

Sitting in the wonderfully comfortable armchairs at Brown's, Draco couldn't wait for the tea to arrive.

'Just wait and see, Granger. If this isn't the most perfect cup of tea you've ever had, something's seriously wrong with you.'

She laughed, and the curls danced around her face. Once again, he was mystified by the many shades that "brown", for reasons totally unknown to him generally considered a dull colour, could contain. In the dim, candle-lit room, he made out specks of red and purple, and even a little gold glittered over the strands of her hair.

The shop assistant brought the tea and a selection of scones. She fixed the cups in what Draco considered an unnecessary show of competence - she waved her wand through the air, and the hot water swooshed in several fountains into the humming pots and… _why couldn't she just do her bloody job and disappear? _\- but Granger seemed utterly transfixed. In fact, she hardly looked at him since they had sat down at their table, next to the cosy fireplace.

Draco couldn't help but think that it was something to do with him, and the idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. If he was being rational, he knew, there was no reason why she should avoid him. He had taken great care to treat her not just with a standard level of politeness, but he had aspired to be the charming sort of gentleman Mummy would parade about at every bloody opportunity.

If he was being honest, and Draco rarely was, working, if it was with Granger, wasn't that horrid at all. Yes; he still despised the concept of the thing, naturally, but if he could, at least, be close to _her_, talk to her, make her mad, make her laugh… _work _could hardly get any more pleasant than this, could it.

The waitress finally left, the tip of her wand balancing a full tray with cups and pots.

'Fucking finally,' he said, eying the almost over-the-top selection of scones, clotted creams, and jams that were taking up every last centimetre of their table.

Granger laughed. 'And here I was thinking you'd be all for that sort of over-the-top tinkering with the most mundane things.'

'On the contrary, Granger. I'm all for the beauty in simplicity.'

She laughed, thinking he was taking the piss out of her.

'I'm being utterly serious, you know.'

'Serious? _You?_ When have you ever been serious about anything?' She smiled, her lips dark red in the crepuscule of the room, and his head felt feather-light all of a sudden. They teased each other regularly, almost devotedly; but it had nothing in common with the poisonous insults they had traded at school - except maybe for the passion with which those exchanges came.

'I'm deadly serious about tea!' he said, feeling as if he had dodged a dangerous question.

They both picked up their cups. He had chosen an Assam: a full, warm, and earthy tea, not only in taste but also in its brilliant shade of reddish-brown. It was a complete change of habit for him. He usually preferred something lighter for tea, something just like Granger had chosen for herself. If she had let him pick (which she never would, of course), he'd have chosen precisely the same: a delicate, only recently flown in Darjeeling from the very first harvest of the season, for which only the most precious, most delicate leaves of the plant were used; a tea with all the honoraries, so bright it was almost golden. It was his favourite blend.

'How do you like it?' His heart was in his throat. He was irrationally eager for her to like it, he realised.

Granger closed her eyes and nipped at her cup. Again, Draco was transfixed by her mouth, the ruby-red against the pearl-white of the chinaware. Something within him quivered, and he held his breath as he studied her every movement. As she pursed her lips to drink, as her tongue flicked out, briefly, to catch a drop, her throat moving from the way her tongue rolled around the liquid, carefully tasting, he realised he had been mirroring her actions. His throat though felt like sandpaper.

'I love it,' she said, and the words rang in his eyes.

_I love it. _

Despite himself, Draco exhaled audibly, and Granger laughed. 'Goodness! I'd never guessed that my opinion was that important to you!'

Draco would've liked to respond, only his mouth was far too dry for anything sensible to emerge. He eagerly raised the teacup to his mouth and took a sip.

A myriad of flavours assaulted his tastebuds that made his tongue curl. He shuddered and tried again. The liquid sloshed in his mouth and Draco would have liked nothing better than to spit it out again. With difficulty, he forced it down. What was supposed to be earthy was so malty as if he had drunk a Stout; what was supposed to be just a hint of spice was so bitter and intense as if someone had dropped a handful of cloves into it.

He slammed the cup on its saucer. The resounding _clang _made Granger jump in her seat.

'_Disgusting _!'

'Draco!' Granger regarded him with wide, worried eyes. 'What's the matter?'

The blood was rushing in his ears. He had promised her the ultimate, most superior tea experience. And this was what they had gotten?

'The tea's not good. Not at all.' He frowned, looking around for the waitress. 'The bint should have known how long to seep the leaves. Unbelievable. Seems like the histrionics made her forget how to do her _actual _job properly.'

'Are you sure, though?' She reached across the table and only when her hands peeled his fingers from the porcelain, he realised he'd been fiercely holding onto the cup. Before his mind could conjure a protest like, _not a chance, someone like her should never suffer something as despicable as that_, she had taken a sip.

'Seems rather fine to me.' She frowned, her eyes taking him in. Draco flushed at her scrutiny.

'"Fine" is not good enough for us!' he said gruffly and fished in his robe pockets for his coins. He threw a few sickles onto the table. 'Come on, Granger. I'll show you a _proper cup of tea _.'

Once again, he offered his arm, and he marched out, ushering a blushing Granger past the utterly aghast waitress standing at the counter, five teacups floating around her head.

* * *

Draco apparated them both to the Manor. To circumvent the family wards, he pulled her against him, and a few stray hairs tickled his nose in a pleasant sort of way, and Draco inhaled. He was faintly aware of Granger's scent, sunny and earthy. What he only realised just now was that how she smelled exactly how his favourite cup of tea ought to have tasted just now.

They landed in the entry hall. Draco swallowed with difficulty. Unwittingly, he had started to salivate and he felt the embarrassment in his bones.

He lead Granger into the tea room, and he was glad that she was momentarily distracted by the view of the Manor gardens.

'This is incredible, Draco. You really are a lucky man,' she said and turned around.

He was about to call Noddy, but as she stood there against the windows, her dark hair reflecting the evening light with specks of gold and burgundy and amber, Draco was his with the force of a realisation that had been bubbling beneath the surface, clawing its way to the top for far too long.

'You know, Granger,' he said, and his voice was a little coarse. 'Do you mind if postpone our tea a little?'

'Why?' She scrunched her nose that way she always did whenever she was trying to figure something out. 'Don't you want the tea anymore?'

He walked up to her and, maybe for the first time, he realised that her wide eyes were the shade of a sunny autumn day. A day in mid-October, with the trees in all the colours of warmth against a blue sky, and the sun so bright it soaked your skin until you felt it in your bones.

'I don't think,' he said, and took another step closer, 'it was tea I was craving all along.'

His hand cupped her cheek, and he rather felt than heard it when her breath hitched.

'And I think,' he said softly, as he lowered his head, 'that requires further investigation.'

The instant his lips touched hers, she threw her arms around him, and Draco only vaguely realised that he pressed them both against the windows. What overpowered his senses was not the softness of her own lips moving against his, or the way she gripped his back that made him feel desired and strong, or how she let out those tiny little moans in between the licks of her tongue against his; but the way she tasted. It was the full, warm, earthy taste, rich in its complexity and soft in its familiarity, that he had longed to taste. It was a taste, he knew instinctively, he would never grow tired of; something he would desire any time and any place.

'Perfect,' he mumbled against her lips, and Granger sighed and pulled him closer. '_You taste perfect_.' And they both truly, utterly forgot that they were supposed to be having a perfect cup of tea.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This work - inspired by HeartofAspens utterly adorable one-shot The Perfect Cup of Tea (which I highly recommend you read) - is barely legible thanks to sarena (alpha) and mcal (beta) - be sure to check out their works as well (especially sarena's very hot orgy fic, Tangled Limbs)! As you might have noticed, there's a lot to be desired because it was a last-minute thing. Hope you still liked it! :) If you did, would you let me know, please? And in case you didn't, I'm even more curious: how can I get better? Let me know, either in the comments or on Tumblr or Twitter. Cheers, Lynx_


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